Mourn for the Heroes
by Spooky4ever
Summary: Because sometimes the bad guy wins; that sunset is the hero's last; Lady Luck is fickle, and happily ever after doesn't always mean "forever". A darker look at Disney befores, afters, and maybes, when that magic isn't enough. WIP. Warnings inside.
1. The Shame of Prince Ali

**Disclaimer: **You guys should be glad I don't own Disney; we'd all have warped childhoods.

**WARNINGS: **Alas this is Disney at its darkest, so people who are sensitive to certain things need to take heed of these. I will not tolerate people complaining about content when I am WARNING you that this fic is not focused on cupcakes and unicorns. SO beware of: **implied character death, alternate ending, implied non-con, and one-sided slash.**

**Dismembered Movie of the Day: **Aladdin, who is much too pretty for his own good. Features Jafar and Aladdin with mentions of Jasmine and Genie.

**Word Count: **1, 551

_Mourn for the Heroes_

* * *

Chapter One: The Shame of Prince Ali

_[The tradegy of life is not that man loses, but that man almost wins. -Heywood C. Broun]_

_It truly was a beautiful city, before the golden sands where stained crimson__..._

The room was made for a prince. Designed with lavish and tasteful decorations that could please any eye, the softest silk sheets draped over plush beds, treasures piled in every vast corner, and a breath taking view of the once wondrous city far below, it wasn't any wonder why anyone would want to leave. Unless, of course, the room wasn't really a room at all but rather a well disguised prison.

An ebony haired youth lay glumly on the luxuriant bed, dark defeated eyes staring out towards the balcony in a heavy longing. He was fitted in clothes more luxurious then the (only) articles he had previously owned. Though really it was only a pair of pants that clothed him; he remained shirtless, exposing a skinny frame that belayed years of malnutrition, but strengthened and built from an equal amount of time of running through the streets and scaling buildings for eluding the royal guards. His wrists were restricted by golden chuffs, a mockery of the same bracelets that bounded his dear friend Genie to an eternity of servitude. A fate he himself now seemed to be destined to.

"My, my sulking again? This act is really becoming tiresome boy." Spidery fingers slowly dragged rough pads up his expose back, lingering briefly at the base of his neck before continuing their sensual ascent. The appendages wrapped themselves around his hair, each strand securely tucked in their merciless grasp. Abruptly they viciously yanked back, wrenching a few strands from their roots and bringing stinging tears to his eyes. Defiantly, he still dared to meet his captors piercing gaze; the smoldering dark onyx freezing the blood in his veins and leaving him frigid. Empty. _Hollow_.

"Thinking about your lovely flower? I understand why you're still so hung up over her. After all she was quite the gem in this forsaken city…_such _a pity she had to die," Jafar mused callously; tilting Aladdin's head back even further for cruelty's sake. The boy gritted his teeth both against the stinging pain and his rage that the monster would speak of his princess so. The dark mage simply appeared amused at the youth's ire. A dark chuckle emitted from thin lips, Jafar's cold grin twisting and stretching wider over his long face.

"There's that temper. It's oh so amusing when you're mad at me. Though really, we both know her death was no fault of mine," he drawled lazily, suddenly releasing Aladdin from his brutal hold. Weeks ago, when he had been in the beginnings of breaking in his new pet, the fool would have thrown a punch, sloppy, wild, and livid. However the boy was a quick study, and learned that such actions would only lead to a painful end. Time had yet to heal the bruises and Aladdin was still mindful of the 'lessons' that entailed them.

But he had yet to fully yield. However that was fine with Jafar, he was a patient man.

"You killed her! It was you!" Aladdin protested vehemently, dark brown eyes flashing with suffocating grief. If Jafar had a heart he would have found such misery tragic, but alas he didn't, and it was rather delicious instead. He couldn't resist digging a little deeper into this trove of despair.

"But who found the lamp? Who was the one that dragged her into this little mess hmm? Surely not I, the simple opportunist here?" The sorcerer eagerly watched as his oily lies seeped into the overwhelming guilt. How the boy's shoulder's drooped in depression as the words wriggled themselves into his conscience. Oh this was too good to be true! The street rat was much too easy to manipulate, and Jafar had thought the Sultan a simpleton! With fake sincerity he cupped Aladdin's face, marveling in the silky, tanned skin beneath his dry, skeletal hands. Such a beautiful boy the slums of Agrabah produced; truly a diamond in the rough. "Her blood is on your hands." With a rough shake he released the street rat, pleased to see the boy glare in displeasure and rub the delicate jaw line.

"However, if it's any consultation to your conscience I would have killed her anyways. Beautiful she was, but the Princess was much too stubborn to be a decent wife," Jafar watched as Aladdin's look darkened.

"There are plenty more women out there willing to produce me a worthy heir." Aladdin's anger had reached eruption; as Jafar predicted, the boy had yet to fully learn his place.

Aladdin lunged, a tortured cry of primal rage pushing past soft lips as he envisioned his hands wrapped around the evil Sultan's neck. However he was immediately yanked back, the rattling of iron chains reminding him he was not to be going anywhere. Jafar smirked in cold satisfaction as Aladdin vainly struggled against his bonds, admiring the way the golden collar clasped around the boy's long tempting neck gleamed in the fire light. Jafar tisked at Aladdin's futile actions, shaking his head in mock dismay.

"You never learn do you?" Jafar took one step forward, a menacing smirk twisting his features. He watched in amusement as the boy's eyes widen in wary alarm. Jafar never broke his gaze from those soft eyes, ones that bled such pathetic innocence, even after leading such a rough life on the streets. There was something about that innocence that drew him to the boy, that bright naïve spark. Oh how he longed to crush it. To snuff it out with a well placed smack and caustic, biting lies coated in cobra's venom. The pain those eyes bled, the utter grief, and agony, and _shame_. Jafar suppressed a shudder. This was simply too rich.

"I suppose once again, I need to teach you your place boy," he spat. Yet despite the venom in his words, he allowed his actions to be deceitfully gentle. A cold hand trailed down the well-toned chest, lazily drawing patterns on the baby soft skin stretched over trimmed muscle. He drew to his full height, and, leaning towards the boy so his lips were placed near the shell of his ear, whispered sinisterly, "Which…is beneath _me_."

Ah the revulsion, the disgust, the fear that fluttered in those almond orbs, Jafar watched in pleasure as each one slowly, slowly chipped away at that beautiful innocence. Aladdin could barely contain his horrified shudder at Jafar's intentions, the unwanted memories of his disgrace rising to the surface.

Honestly Jafar preferred his women, lowly street rats, even one as pretty as this one, were normally of no interest to him. But he had discovered that simply killing the pest was not a fulfilling victory at all. In fact, now with the passing of the beloved Princess Jasmine, death was an escape Jafar had to deny Aladdin, a boy so distressed by her passing and the loss that Azra'il's hand was actually a welcome.

Oh how satisfactory the decision has been.

The boy wasn't horrible company to keep surprisingly. His cunning had given Jafar an interesting new view of Aladdin. To think, this rat he had so easily manipulate into his hands had almost outsmarted him. But it happened; the boy had almost made him waste his last wish on eternal imprisonment at the price of infinite power. And Aladdin had been so close, so very close to victory it disturbed Jafar how quickly it could have unraveled. Alas though, it was not to be, and the rest they say is a case of unfortunate history.

In light of the following events, Jafar found that his adversary needed a fitting fate, one binding and unforgettable. Hence the reason why he had used his third wish on the boy: to make him Jafar's eternal servant; bonded through life and death by a genie's cosmic magic. There was no escape for the rat, no more running, no jump to take. His friends were gone, the Sultan taken care of, and the Princess buried in the sands of time.

Now it was just Jafar, and his pretty little toy.

Lovely.

There was still defiance in the boy's wide eyes; despite the telltale trembling in the lean, muscled forearm Jafar's other hand grasped. The rat still did not beg, or cry, or plead for any sort of mercy as the evil Sultan loomed over his form with cruel and dark intentions most foul. No whimper drew forth from his lips as dagger like nails were possessively dragged a crossed the sun kissed skin, tantalizing in the path they took. The hatred was plain to see as Jafar took everything and more from Aladdin, whose unspoken promises of revenge was evident in the fisting of rough hands. But Jafar saw the innocence gradually wither, and he continued to steal without reprieve, promising Aladdin infinity of this torturous treatment in return.

"But don't worry, once you learn this will become better for the both of us," he whispered mockingly into quivering skin, the ragged breathing belaying the boy's terror and anger. He met those damned eyes, grinned languidly, and stole again, muffling the protesting cries. Yes, he had found his diamond in the rough.

Jafar loved beautiful things…they were absolutely exquisite when he broke them.

_And now the city cries as it crumbles. _

* * *

**AN: **"My favorite scene in all of Aladdin is the part in "Prince Ali Reprise" when Jafar, after stripping Aladdin of his Prince ruse, turns the boy upside-down, pinches his nose, violently shakes his face from side to side and then in an of act of contempt, mockery, and sadistic emotional manipulation, smacks him across his youthful little face. Such deliciously violent chemistry."

And from this quote this little ditty was born. I've always wanted to write a uber dark fic (or series), and when presented with the chance to corrupt Disney, the definition of all things magical and happily ever after, why I couldn't resist. And then I thought, why stop at Aladdin? It's only one of my numerous favorites that Disney has produced. So here we are. This is under WIP status because I had this brainchild basically only a couple of days ago, and Aladdin is the only one to have taken a solid form. Updates will be whenever I have inspiration, or when I am feeling overtly twisted. However on that note suggestions are welcomed.

I understand that not everyone may be comfortable with whatever direction a chapter takes, so please do heed the warnings, I'm putting them there for your benefit. I myself am only slightly comfortable with reading slash, I never thought I'd ever get around to writing it. I hope I made Jafar's reasonings somewhat logical, it was rather difficult to write out given he was so hung up over Jasmine ;). Please drop a review, I'd love to hear what you guys think and if this series is worth contining.

I shall now go run and hide, because **steamboatwillie1928 **is going to have my head for corrupting her favorite fandom like this.

* * *


	2. Rose Red

**Disclaimer: **Of course I do, that is exactly why I'm replacing the original endings and such for free. Silly lawyers.

**WARNINGS: **Today's reading has: **violence, graphic tortue, cursing, and vain, insane queens.**

**Dismembered Movie of the Day: **_Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_, who kind-of had it coming to her. Features the psychopathic Queen, poor, naive Snow White, and the all-knowing Mirror who should have kept quiet.

**Word Count: **2,155

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Chapter Two: Rose Red

_[There is nothing so agonizing to the fine skin of vanity as the application of a rough truth-Edward G. Bulwer-Lyton]_

"_Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?"_

Beauty comes in various forms. The watercolor show of a sunrise; a cascading waterfall older then the mountains; the reflection of golden sunlight off of a treasure trove; the dancing of a butterflies stained-glass wings…yes beauty. It can be defined by color, or texture, or sound, or even personality. The world holds many wonders barely capable of fully capturing the word's full definition, but to the Queen, the sight before her couldn't be any grander.

The tools of hell's trade were laid out before her, gleaming wickedly in the dim light the dungeon provided. Each one whispered out to her, describing the numerous ways they could pierce the flesh; bring forth the most agonized of screams. Her pretties were lined up like perfect soldiers, all waiting eagerly for their Mistress' cold hands to command them, guide them to the pale flesh to cut, and sever, and _bleed_.

A whimper drew the Queen from her admiration, drawing her contempt gaze to the prone naked figure hanging in cold chains. She smirked in blatant amusement at the young girl's terror, relishing in her victory. This perhaps could be the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, outside of her own regale reflection of course.

"Please…" the fragile voice sobbed, the sound painfully hoarse after strenuous use of the vocal cords. The Queen didn't bat a long eyelash at the creature's terrified begging, finding her reflection in the glint of a large knife much more fascinating. With careful scrutiny her eyes roamed over the contours of her face, examining the ashen skin for wrinkle or blemish. So far her visage has remained the paradigm of total perfection. But the Queen was no fool. She knew for all of her meticulous care that time would unravel it all in a matter of years. And then this despicable youth before her would rise up and dethrone her, ruining a lifetime of such painstaking work.

But it seemed time would not wait on her, oh no, it had decided to work its wonders on the girl. That damn girl who had blossomed overnight! The Magic Mirror had proved the damning truth days ago, revealing it was not she who was the most beautiful, but the pathetic girl she was forced to house.

What an outrage! A lie! The Queen knew she had to rectify this horrible problem before it grew any worse. But how, she pondered. She knew better then to count on the Huntsman. He was, after all, a man, and was probably already smitten by the 'charming' girl with those damning dewy doe-eyes with long dark lashes, and those damn pouty red lips. She had to take matters into her own delicate hands.

This simply could not have been better.

Pulling herself from her prided musings, the Queen decided on the knife as today's toy. She had retained a sense of creativity when dealing with her house pest: whips, hooks, screws, red hot pokers, and more. She used whatever was at her disposal to destroy that sickeningly perfect body. So far she had made wondrous progress, relishing in every slash, every careful incision, every slap, every bone broken and twisted till the limb was swollen and purple. And the tears, the cries…the Queen repressed a delighted shiver. This wretched creature had no tolerance for pain, and the wicked woman took advantage of it.

The girl's back was covered in criss-crossed lacerations, deep, ugly, and still weeping blood despite that the whipping had occurred days ago. Her arms, once delicate and willowy, had been eaten by nature's cruelest element, darkened and scorched so that the limbs were probably now unusable. The hands, which she had purposely saved from the fire, were nothing more then a mess of twisted fingers (all nail-less, dear God how the young woman screeched like a banshee during that session) pinned to the wall with the thickest, longest screws the Queen could find.

The torso was littered with slashes, bruises, burns, and other marks that belayed the Queen's loss of control. She had, to her dismay, had lost herself in a fit of rage at one point, and had not been very elegant at all in her ministries. The girl had shrieked herself till her voice croaked like a frog's, but the witch had found little satisfaction in them when she saw what she had done to her lovely canvas; she had had such exquisite and malicious plans too…She had redeemed herself when dealing with those slender and sleek legs, slicing down till she hit hollow ivory bone and simply dragged her dagger upwards, tearing at the soft skin and tender muscle as blood burbled like a fountain from ravaged veins. Those things were a bloody mess, and the Queen was pleased to see infection sitting in the ragged wounds.

Not that the girl would ever walk again. The Queen had taken it upon herself to remove all of her toes.

The week had passed pleasantly enough, soaked in crimson with the hollow halls still echoing the tormented screams. The Queen had lounged in comfort, drinking languidly from gold and silver, never minding how her stained hands left marks all over her marble floors and rare oriental rugs. The servants were in a bit of a fuss, but the Queen ignored the incompetent ants, content only if they kept their mouths shut and feet out of her way.

Now today she would finish her work of art, having saved the best for last.

She ended up switching the large kitchen knife for something smaller and easier to work with. The huge knife was a bit bulky and would be awkward to hold at angles in her small hands. Not to mention there was something rather cliché about it; the Queen was all about originality in this case.

The Queen strode to the trembling figure, her heels clicking sharply against the wet stone floor. The girl's shuddering breaths grew deeper and raspy, her terror bleeding through her pores, muscles twitching and trembling in the horrible anticipation. Cold fingers grasped harshly at the porcelain skin of the angel's face, purposely digging the digits in as hard enough to bruise. Aside from the blotchy flush and tear streaks, Snow White's face remained unmarred. Flawless. Utterly perfect, more so then the Queen's. For a moment the Queen's raged uncoiled itself and threatened to take over, but she pushed it aside, not wanting to ruin her final game.

This was what she had been waiting for.

"Now, now my dear," the Queen cooed amidst Snow White's sobs. "This will be all over soon. I promise." The girl's plump lips moved soundlessly, probably trying to form some incoherent blubber. Beg, beg, beg, beg, _beg_-that was all the girl had done. _Please don't hurt me! No more please! God please stop! What have I done to deserve this?! _Honestly it was a miracle she hadn't cut the creatures tongue out.

Without warning, her other hand whipped up and held the knife at the corner of the girl's lovely mouth. "No more begging from you," the Queen hissed coldly, eye's darkened by kohl narrowed in disgust. "This is your fate." Snow White began to feebly shake her head, but was cut off as the Queen savagely dragged the knife across her cheek all the way to her ear.

Naturally the girl screamed, the Queen ignoring her as she continued her work. Snow White really didn't have much tolerance for pain did she? Not that it bothered the witch. It wouldn't be much fun if she was numbed to her treatments. She gave the left side of the girl's face the same attention, this time slicing open the skin so the teeth could be seen though shredded gum and flesh.

Tears ran like a flood down the tortured girl's face, mixing with the hot blood and running down her graceful pale neck. A look of annoyance painted the Queen's face. This damn crying had to stop; it was messing with her work! With her empty hand the Queen slapped the pitiful creature, smearing scarlet across snow and eliciting another shriek.

"Stop this nonsense! Stop it!" the Queen raged. "What are you crying for?! This pain, this is nothing compared to what _you _would have put me through! Everyone would have _loved _you! They would have…forgotten me, like some old crone! I would have been cast aside, unwanted, un-," she abruptly stopped herself. Damn it all! How dare this creature, this _peon_ bring forth such hideous thoughts!

She lost herself to her anger. Viciously she slashed, and peeled, and dug, ignoring the girl's weak thrashing, and choked cries, and never ending tears. Blood ran in rivets down the Queen's arms, staining her magnificent robes and saturating her sleeves. She lost herself to her world of crimson. Hot, streaming, thick, and luscious: it encompassed her vision, her being.

Red was a beautiful color, she discovered.

Finally, she pulled herself from the ruby haze. Stepping back, trying to recompose herself in the process, she admire her work, though frenzied and awfully messy. The girl was wholly unrecognizable. Flowing blood coated her pale skin, what skin was left intact anyways. Her face was a shredded mess-the grotesque, skeletal grin cutting open her face so horrid that not even those innocent large eyes could soften the atrocity. The sight was horrendous to look at.

Revolting.

Sickening.

_Ugly_.

The cackle burbled past her lips without resistance. Hideous. The fairest one in all the land was positively repulsive. No one man would want her. The townspeople would flee in terror at her monstrous appearance. She would be feared, rather then adored. No one would want her for a ruler. The Queen watched in sick fascination as blood dripped off her cheek, a red tear.

Well, she wouldn't be very feared if she died from blood loss, but Snow White would be out of the way now, no matter what happened. The Queen laughed again. And again, and again, and again. She won! _Shewonshewonshewonshewonshewon_! The mad laughter vibrated throughout the cold, foreboding prison, echoing and joining the haunted screams that had filled the hell hole only _minutesdaysweeks__**forever**_ before.

Finally, the witch was able to stop herself and recompose. After all, there was one last thing to take care of…She picked up a clean dagger and sauntered back over to the limp form of her captive. The Queen turned the girl's mutilated face so that they gazed into each others eyes. Dark and light held a connection for a brief moment…and then the darkness swallowed it whole.

"Behold the _true _face of beauty," the Queen announced triumphantly, her grip on the girl's face sliding slightly since both her hands and the skin beneath them were slick with the red substance. "The last thing you shall ever get to see." The girl sucked in a horrified breath, eyes wider then saucers before rolling backwards, and then fell limp, finally, finally, _finally_ passing out.

* * *

"_Magic mirror on the wall, who __**now**__ is the fairest one of all?"_

* * *

The Queen quickly went to work, not really minding that her victim wasn't aware for this. Perhaps it was best; she wanted her work to be absolutely precise and couldn't do so if the girl's head was thrashing to and fro. When her tasked was completed, the Queen took a satisfied step away from the girl, and held her prize up in the dim light. Almond eyes stared back at her from her grasp, the widened horror still painted in the light irises. She clasped them gently, probably the most care she had ever bestowed upon Snow White, even if it was only a small, dismembered part of the girl.

With her job complete, the Queen felt relief sag her shoulders as she pocketed the accusatory eyes. She had succeeded; she was once again the loveliest woman in the entire kingdom. The vain woman cast a contemplative glance at the mangled body of the once attractive Snow White.

* * *

"_In the dungeon hangs Snow White, the fairest of them all."_

* * *

"Do you know," she sauntered over to the unconscious form, "that apparently drinking the blood of nubile girls can keep one young and beautiful forever? It seems you're not totally useless after all," the Queen mused as the devious idea churned in her mind. The girl was half-dead anyways, it wouldn't hurt to drain her dry. The Queen brusquely turned on her heel and strode out of the dungeon, leaving Snow White to her new and permanent home.

* * *

"_Impossible you wretched mirror! How dare you speak these lies!"_

* * *

A smirk curled on her lips as she licked her hands clean of drying blood. It tasted just like wine.

* * *

"_But my Queen, do you not know that beauty isn't necessarily skin deep?" _

* * *

**AN: **And that my dear friends is how the first vampire came to be. No, really.

meh, I'll admit I'm not one hundred percent happy with this one, something about it bothers me (and not in the "this is sick and wrong!" sense). Perhaps it was the characterization (shrug).Buuuuut, the idea wouldn't leave me alone, and we all know how impossible it is to write anything else when the plot bunnies are eating you alive. Cannibalistic bastards. In other news: Snow White is actually one of my least favorite Disney movies, maybe that's why I was so cruel to her...oh and the Joker and Alžbeta Báthory (aka: the Countess Dracula) are wonderful inspirations.

Till next time! Please continue with the fantastic reviews (which i will eventually reply to)


	3. Shatter the Glass Illusion

**Disclaimer: **Breaking news folks, I've just inherited Disney! Oh wait, sorry that was a nightmare of mine.

**WARNINGS: **Are rather light today: **Implied suicide, annoying OC's, and possible OOC (depends on the reader I suppose)**

**Dismembered Movie of the Day: **_Cinderella-_who needed a wake up call: reality sucks. Features Random!Ignorant!townspeople, an angsty Cinderella, and mentions of her charming family.

**Word Count: **1,565

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Chapter Three: Shatter the Glass Illusion

_["What happens to the wide-eye observer when the window between reality and unreality breaks and the glass begins to fly?"-Unknown]_

_All stories begin with "once upon a time"_

* * *

"_A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true."_

_She had said that once, and had fully believed it with all her heart. Hope fueled her, blind faith moved her, that continuous chant that "it will be all right" pushing her through each day of back breaking work. No matter how tough things were, she pushed herself right back up, smiling, bright, and cheerful._

_She was a fool._

* * *

"Did you hear what happened?"

"What? No."

"Why I can hardly believe it! It's been the talk of the town Melinda!" The confused woman stared blankly at her friend over rows of freshly baked bread.

"Well believe it Angela, I've been a little busy lately," she sighed tiredly, pushing graying fringes of hair away from exhausted, ringed eyes. But Angela took no notice of the woman's exhaustion, instead leaned over the counter of pastries, and, whispering in a conspirator's voice, said,

"Lady Tremaine's girl, that wretched thing, apparently killed herself the other night. During the Prince's ball too!" Angela exclaimed, thoroughly disgusted by the whole ordeal. Melinda bit back a horrified gasp.

"That's terrible! Was it Drizella or Anastasia?" she asked mournfully. Angela's ruddy face twisted with snide contempt.

"Neither, it was that step-daughter of hers, Cinderella."

_

* * *

_

And she had wished, oh how she had yearned with her ever fiber of her being to be free of this servitude life. Every night after she dragged heavy feet and aching limbs and dirty hands up to her dreary room, she would collapse by her window and count the glowing stars-wondering which one was the lucky one she needed. Which heavenly body was the one that would whisk her away from this dreaded place?

_Every night Cinderella faithfully practiced this silly ritual, hoping beyond hopes that her feeble efforts would produce something. And when she finished, the young woman would collapse onto her broken bed with a weary smile and sore muscles ready to escape to her dreams, where the stars listened to her every word. _

* * *

"Cinderella?" Melinda's crooked nose wrinkled in thought. "I didn't know she had another daughter." Angela sniffed snootily as she leaned away from the counter, her beady eyes gleaming sharply as she considered the hearsay, picking through what was the most interesting to tell.

"Well I can't blame her for hiding the girl away. Apparently she was a wickedly spoiled thing, absolutely dreadful to have around the house. Didn't lift a single finger to help the poor Lady or her step-sisters with the house work!"

"You don't say!" Melinda gasped in sympathy, she couldn't imagine how busy her life would be if her children didn't assist with the chores. Angela nodded succinctly.

"Oh yes, and had horrid tantrums too when she didn't get her way. Lady Tremaine was always sobbing about how difficult that girl was to control."

The shop's door twinkled as another morning customer strode through, tearing the ladies away from their chattering.

_

* * *

_

When Cinderella heard of the Prince's ball, she believed Fate had finally given her a chance. When her step-mother had given her permission, well, Cinderella was walking on air.

_All of her wishing, and praying, and hoping had paid off. She was finally getting her chance!_

_She had polished the sleek marble floors till they shined with her grinning reflection. She beat the rugs till not a speck of dirt could be found. She scrubbed, ironed, and pressed the laundry till it appeared good as new. Cinderella gave the whole house a make-over, making sure every corner was tidy, every pot was sparkling, and every floor was swept. She worked miracles on that mansion._

_And her dress, oh the dress. Positively the loveliest thing she had ever had the pleasure of owning. She looked fantastic in it. Cinderella had never looked so beautiful in her life, never felt so special before. But now, now she was a new woman, headed out toward a new life._

_Too bad it wasn't meant to last._

* * *

"Good morning Douglas!" Angela greeted the portly man whom had entered. Said man dabbed at his forehead lightly with a ratty handkerchief, peering over scratched glasses to see who had addressed him.

"Ah yes good morning Isabella!" he hailed cheerfully. "Just what are you ladies gossiping about so early in the morning?" Melinda had the grace to look slightly ashamed, but Angela was miffed that, once again you see, Douglas had confused her with her sister.

"Angela, Douglas dear, I'm Angela," she corrected him hurriedly. "But, we were _discussing_," she stressed this quite clearly_, _"the tragedy that has befallen poor Lady Tremaine. Though if I do say so myself it may be a relief rather than a misfortune" Douglas frowned for a moment but catching on.

"You mean the suicide? What was that girl's name? Cindy? Cynthia?" he frowned again. "A shame really." Angela guffawed in amusement, shaking her head in dismay.

"Hardly, it seemed that girl was nothing but trouble!" she exclaimed firmly. "A disgrace to her dear father's name!" Melinda, whose attention had been briefly lost in the battle between rhubarb tarts and scones, rejoined the conversation.

"Really? Until now I didn't even know she existed."

_

* * *

_

She was alone. Truly, horribly alone in a cold world full of arrogant people who just didn't care. Cinderella had crumbled by the smoldering fire, crying for what she had just lost and what she would never have.

_This was unfair! Completely and utterly unfair! What had she done to deserve this life? Why was she the one to do everything: the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the shopping? Why did she have to give up her life, her well being, and hopes, and dreams, and future for an ungrateful family? Why her? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY!?_

_Though it seemed impossible the blonde further collapsed within herself, sinking down into the soot that inspired her name and falling on the unforgiving floor. She sobbed, deep, depressing cries that shouted years of pain and loneliness, and confusion, and hurt. _

* * *

"She was very quiet the few times I've seen her in town," Douglas mused. "Are you sure this Cilicia girl is the right daughter?" Angela huffed indignantly.

"_Of course_, I have very good sources you know. That quiet demeanor was probably just a front. Why I heard that she tried to drown their pet cat on numerous occasions." She nodded confidently.

"What a dreadful child!" Melinda gasped.

"And that's not all! In a fit of jealously she destroyed Drizella's gown only a few days before the ball! Lady Tremaine had to work wonders on it."

"Why I can't imagine…" Douglas mumbled thoughtfully to himself.

"Her death was probably another out-of-control tantrum of hers. After her horrendous behavior, Lady Tremaine took rightful action in banning her from the party," Angela said approvingly.

_

* * *

_

Did anyone hear her despairing cries? Did anyone know of her plight? Did anyone care? Anyone? Cinderella sniffed miserably from her position by the dying fire, foggy blue eyes tracing the shadows cast on the dirt walls. Was this life worth the desolation? Should she continue to hope on dreams, put faith in unfeeling, detached stars?

_Hiccupping silently, the rejected blonde pushed herself to her bare feet. Wobbling slightly, Cinderella staggered over the open window, ignoring how the tattered remains of her glorious dress twisted around her slim legs. Propping herself against the cold ledge, empty eyes searched the heavens for a star- any star that winked at her in comfort and twinkled promises of joy. Any star at all, not matter how small or bright, she'd take it._

_**Anything**_.

* * *

"I can't imagine how Lady Tremaine feels," Melinda sighed as she shifted her heavy basket. Angela snorted derisively, and then choked on a lump of phlegm; hardly ladylike in the least.

"Probably relieved the poor dear."

"Oh but still, to loose a child like that, even if she was a devilish little thing. The Lady must feel awful."

"I suppose," Angela sighed.

"So when is the funeral?" Douglas asked, finally rejoining the conversation. Angela blinked impassively at him, as if she couldn't believe his stupidity.

"Don't you know? That dramatic girl threw her self off a damn cliff. There is no body to be found. It makes no sense to waste money on an empty grave, especially on one not worth the price."

_

* * *

_

Cinderella cried long and hard till her voice grew hoarse. She offered her wilting heart to the heavens for mercy. She placed everything she had on Fate, probably deserved Her good graces the most.

But everyone knows Fate is not kind, and Fate most certainly places her cards on something more substantial then dreams.

_Cinderella called. Cinderella begged._

_Cinderella received silence for her troubles. _

* * *

"Well, at least there will be peace in that house now," Melinda offered optimistically, though the attempt was halfhearted at best.

"Not a happy ending, but a deserved one indeed," Angela affirmed.

And so the townspeople went about their day, some almost forgetting the incident entirely until someone brought it up. Rumors ran rampent through the town, ranging from cause of death to the very reasons of why. But all in all they agreed on one thing.

That Cinderella girl was obviously not worth remembering.

She didn't even have a grave.

_

* * *

_

_Cinderella was dragged under by despair's eager claws; she did not resist._

_She leaped off the edge, and fled from her heartache, permanently. _

_

* * *

_

_But not all of them are keen on the happily ever after part._

_

* * *

_

**AN: "**In Perrault's Cinderella, he concludes the tale with the cynical moral that no personal advantages will suffice without proper connections." And doesn't that ring true? Cinderella did jack squat to get where she ended up, she relied on some fairy godmother, which doesn't exactly work with reality. Yeah, it's a fairy tale, but good ole' Perrault proves a point and I worked with it. Plus, originally fairy tales had unhappy endings, so I feel its unfair that she gets a nice one ;). Meh, a ridiculous amount of dialouge compared to the previous two, I hope no one really minds. Not that I'm gonna rewrite it but...it's lighter. I figured we could use lighter.

I'm not big on suicide fics. People make them waaaaaay too EMO!ANGSTY!LET'S CRY IN A DARK CLOSET! and I can't tolerate it. Others have this...poetic/romantic way about writing them I guess. Can't stand that either. There is nothing poetic about suicide and it shouldn't be written that way either. So I tried to not make it so 'in your face' or poetic, but I'm afraid I failed there. (sigh). At least I avoided the slitting of the wrists ne?

In other less exciting news I'm leaving for the beach this Sat. which means no updates next week (I can already feel the internet withdrawal). I do promise to work on the next chapter, which will either be about Pochahontus, Lady and the Tramp, or Alice in Wonderland. I'm still trying to decide.

Oh, and ironically enough, I've had Myra's "Miracles Happen" stuck in my head the whole time I was writing this chappie. For sick and twisted reasons, I briefly thought about using it for the chapter quote. I'm done now. See ya all in a week!


	4. Defying Gravity

**Disclaimer: **It was a close battle for a while, but then Marval swooped in and Disney decided they'd rather spend money then earn it, so I still don't own it.

**WARNINGS: **character death; slight gore, but its _very slight_ so the squeamish should be fine.

**Dismembered Movie of the Day: **_Dumbo_-the elephant he thought he could fly. with a feather. snort. Guest starring a questionably sane Timothy and a sick, sick group of spectators.

**Word Count:**450

* * *

Chapter Four: Defying Gravity

_["Gravity is a contributing factor in nearly 73 percent of all accidents involving falling objects." -Dave Berry]_

_If man was meant to fly, God would have given him wings…_

It was his moment to shine, and he was more then ready. He supposed any other elephant would be nervous; after all he was so high up his trunk could _almost _touch the big top. But that didn't bother him at all.

He could fly ya know.

Timothy Q. Mouse and all his encouragements felt a million miles to the young elephant, for Dumbo was too captivated by the roaring crowds with their clamorous cheers and tiny, indiscernible features. All meshed into one cheering, noisy rainbow of flesh and cloth, and circus balloons, truly fascinating, something to keep his mind off the task at hand. He clutched the dark feather a little tighter. Perhaps they should have tested it first? But Timothy said…

He wasn't nervous, he could fly after all.

The act had begun; the clown's frantically dashed around the ring like tiny ants fleeing a flood. Trumpets blared and the fire roared hot, and the shrill cries of a clown screeched "My baby! My baby!" His moment had arrived; his chance to become more than just a clown, to free his mum…the spotlight was all on him.

He could fly.

"Dumbo! You're standin' on the threshold of success! Boy are they in for a surprise!" Timothy Q. Mouse excitedly told him. The drums rolled, the crowd waited with abated breath, he grasped at his feather and ("Take off!"), he took the jump.

Dumbo, the elephant with the largest ears in the circus, could fly.

Freefall. Faster and faster he plunged, the flaming windows whizzing by as Dumbo the Flying Elephant fell. He had lost the magic feather, but Timothy Q. Mouse was still insisting, "You can fly! You can fly!"

He was supposed to fly.

The multitude watched, eyes too horrified to witness the sight that held them captivated in sick fascination glued to the tremendous falling figure. Everyone watched, pleading, wondering, curious, as the flying elephant fell, and fell, and fell, and fell…

"PLEASE! You can fly! You can-"

KER-SPLAT.

The shock. The horror. The dismay. Indeed the audience received a surprise.

The sight in the circus ring was enough for even the gustiest of men to cringe, to irrevocably shatter the innocence of children, to leave the coldest of Dumbo's bullies empty and horrified…so revolting yet the audience could not tear their sight away from the _shatterboneandpoolingbloodandtwistedlimbsandsomeoneenditsmisery _as a man ran off to grab his means of ending the creatures agonized failure.

Dumbo the Flying Elephant could not in fact, fly at all.

_And so to be fair, He included the other animals too, and bounded them to the earth. _

* * *

**AN: **this is where the cynical, sardonic side of me comes out to play after an extremely frustrating day. I'm sorry Disney. I don't care how touching the story is or how damn big those ears are, they can't support one's body mass, especially when that one is the world's largest land animal. It just doesn't fly with Newton and physics in general. Sorry for all Dumbo lovers out there (as it seems to be a rather well loved movie by those around me, except my mom, who thinks the creators were on acid at the time but that's beside the point), I've never been a fan, and after today, well, come on, it was begging to be done regardless. More macabre then dark, but they go hand-in-hand.

I'm sorry about the delay, though in my defense I did warn that this was a WIP, meaning updates are random and sometimes sparse. Let's just say that vacation of mine three months ago didn't help the creative juices, and neither Lady, nor Pocahontus, NOR Alice have been keen on coorperation. Plot bunnies are truly evil, finicky little bitches folks.

The chapter title is a nod to steamboatwillie1928, since she has recently been hooked _on _Wicked and I thought of her whilst writing (mostly about how she'll hate me after this).

And am I truly evil to have kind-of giggled at the ker-splat?


End file.
